Madonna
by Equestrienne Dreams
Summary: This is one patient she will not fail. Bernadette&Julienne, Turnadette.
1. Hail Mary, Full of Grace

She doesn't look up as the steps echo through the hall. "Ah, Nurse Franklin, will you take the delivery pack over to Mrs Bancroft after you've finished your rounds?"

"I'd be happy to," says a voice that is so familiar she could recognise it in her sleep, "but I'm not Nurse Franklin, if that's all right."

"Shelagh." Quickly she crosses the room to take the other woman's hands in hers. "I thought you were off duty today?"

"I am." She smiles, and decades-old instincts start to nudge at the back of Julienne's mind. Shelagh is glowing, her smile even more radiant than it had been on her wedding day, if that was possible. "I had to come in and see Cynthia, though."

"Oh?" Her suspicions are growing, but Julienne cannot dare to hope. "May I ask why?"

Instead of answering, Shelagh smiles a knowing smile and gently guides Julienne's hand to rest on the flat of her belly, pressing it to the softness of her abdomen.

_Oh, holy Mother. _Julienne's heart leaps in her chest, and without thinking she presses more firmly against the cloth, feeling for something she knows will not be palpable for weeks to come. "_Shelagh. _You are sure?"

Even before she asks the question, Julienne knows the answer. Sister Bernadette had been second only to herself as a midwife in Poplar, and Nurse Turner has only become better in the months since she took that name. Of course Shelagh is sure. She wouldn't be here if she weren't.

"Yes." Now Julienne recognises her glow for what it is; the glow of a new mother. "I've asked Cynthia to be my midwife, if that's all right."

The words slash at Julienne's heart, though intellectually she knows that of all the other midwives at Nonnatus, Cynthia's gentle temperament and calming manner is perfect for Shelagh. It is not all right, it is very much not all right, but somehow Julienne manages to keep her voice rock steady. "Why Cynthia, may I ask?"

And then Shelagh looks up at her with dazzling eyes and all the hurt is wiped away in an instant. "Because," Shelagh murmurs, her eyes never leaving Julienne's face, "you can't be my midwife and hold my hand at the same time."

Julienne nods, unable to speak.

"I told Patrick – Doctor Turner – this morning," Shelagh continues, instinctively giving Julienne time to recover. "He was… well, you can imagine his reaction."

"Yes, I can," murmurs Julienne when she has recovered her voice. "I can just imagine. And of course Cynthia knows, and…"

"…you," finishes Shelagh. "I came straight here, as soon as she confirmed it."

It's only then that Julienne realises her hand is still covering Shelagh's abdomen, and she bows her head a moment as she pulls her hand away. In a few months, she knows, she'll be able to feel the flutter of new life through skin and cloth. She's felt it a thousand times before, but this time… this time, everything is new.

This time, she has everything to lose.

"I trust Cynthia," she gets out, her voice wavering. "But if it comes down to it…"

"If it comes down to it," echoes Shelagh, understanding her perfectly, "there is no one else I would want by my side than you, Sister Julienne."

Gently she takes the girl – for she is still a girl in Julienne's eyes – she takes the girl's face in her hands. "I won't let anything happen to you."

It's an empty promise, one she cannot guarantee, and Sister Julienne, a midwife with decades of experience, knows it. But Julienne, who has held this young woman while she cried, who has watched with aching heart as she fought to find the right path, who has stood by an altar and placed her hand in her husband's, has no such compunction about guarantees or false promises. May God help her, this is one patient she will not fail.

Shelagh hides her face against Julienne's shoulder, and Julienne draws her close. For a moment Shelagh is just a scared girl who wants her mother, and for that same moment Julienne is only a mother both thrilled and terrified for her daughter.

Then Shelagh turns wet blue eyes on her again. "You will be there, won't you?" She sounds uncertain and young – so terribly, terribly young. In truth she is nearly thirty but in this…

"My dear, good friend." Julienne brushes her cheek with a finger, just as she had done at Shelagh's wedding. "I could be nowhere else." Gently, she grasps trembling shoulders. "If you have need of me, you call. Any time, anywhere. Understand? No matter how late, no matter how far, you call and I will come."

Now it is Shelagh who is lost for words. This is too much to bear, love and pain in equal measure; they have both seen too much and lost too many to think it is always easy, and this is Shelagh's first. And yet…

"Sister…" Shelagh's voice breaks completely.

Julienne lifts her chin with one finger, tender and sweet. "Daughter," she murmurs, her eyes spilling over, and knows again that it is only the truth for both of them.

Overcome, Julienne clasps Shelagh's hands in hers, taken by training ingrained over decades. "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee…"

Shelagh blinks for only an instant before her voice joins Julienne's. "Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus…"

Over and over their voices chant the prayer, reciting in perfect unison. Unthinking, lost in devotion, they pray on and on, asking for strength they do not have alone.

Trixie pauses in the doorway, holding her words back at the last minute as she takes in the scene on the sofa. She closes the door and walks away, unnoticed.

Outside the sitting room walls, the world goes on around them.

But in the quiet of sanctuary, the Hail Mary spins a cocoon of privacy and hope and love.


	2. In Stages

**One**

She knew as soon as it happened, though she could never explain how. Timothy had been at a school friend's for the weekend, and she and Patrick had – taken the opportunity to enjoy themselves. There was nothing particularly special about that night, no more so than any other she shared with him. And yet… somehow, she had known, with a woman's instincts, that new life was blossoming inside her.

The next morning, though the part of her that was midwife-trained knew it was far too soon to tell, she had covered her belly with one hand and smiled a soft, sleepy smile in the golden glow of dawn.

* * *

**Two**

She told Patrick when she missed her courses for the second month in a row; had kept the knowledge hidden in her heart for eight weeks as she waited to make sure she was right. But she had been, and she couldn't have kept it from him any longer. Truth be told, she no longer wanted to.

Never in her life would she forget the dawning disbelief and incredulous joy on his face when she had taken his hand and pressed it to her abdomen, where his child and hers was growing inside her.

He had gone to his knees then, had knelt at her feet to bury his face against her stomach, to wrap his arms around her waist and clutch her close like she was something miraculous. He hadn't said a word, but then, he hadn't needed to. The wonder of it was in the air all around him, and as seemed to happen so often between them, his eloquence was in his silence.

* * *

**Three**

Sister Julienne was so careful with her, once she knew. Oh, Shelagh carried on with her work as she always had, and Sister Julienne knew very well she wouldn't have stood for anything else. But every so often, in the quietest moments, Shelagh would see Sister Julienne looking at her with something soft and warm in her eyes. A brief touch on her shoulder, a smile across the room, a little extra caution during the rough, physical deliveries, when Julienne would do the worst of it herself. Shelagh would have complained, but in the end, she couldn't bring herself to do it. She knew her pregnancy meant almost as much to Julienne as it did to her and her husband, and the lonely, motherless little girl she had been blossomed under Julienne's maternal affection like a flower in the sunlight.

And sometimes in the night, when Patrick had been called away and she was alone and just a little scared in her bed, she would close her eyes and clasp her hands and chant the Hail Mary, just as she and Julienne had done that day at Nonnatus, and the memory of Julienne's soft, soothing voice in her ear, and the warmth of her hands clasped over Shelagh's, would give her the comfort and peace she had been searching for.

* * *

**Four**

They told Timothy in month four. He'd looked from Shelagh to Patrick, mind obviously whirring. "Mummy Shelagh's going to have a baby?" he'd asked, as if he was making sure, and when Shelagh had blinked back tears and nodded, he'd run up to her and flung himself into her arms, clinging tight.

"Is that why you've been throwing up sometimes in the mornings?" he'd asked, his arms still around her waist, and she and Patrick had looked at each other ruefully, as if to say, _We can't hide anything, can we?_

"Yes, Timothy," she'd said, kneeling to put herself on his level. "But it's not a bad kind of sick."

"But I bet it still feels awful," he'd said solemnly, and when she'd laughed and admitted that yes, it really does, he'd made sure to bring her a mug of ginger tea every morning before he left for school.

* * *

**Five**

She felt the baby kick for the first time just as month five began.

She'd been helping clean up from clinic, lost in the relaxing monotony of washing instruments and organizing supplies, when she'd paused and gasped. Sister Julienne, sitting nearby working on paperwork, had leapt up and hurried to her side, but relaxed instantly when she saw the delighted smile on Shelagh's face.

"Sister," she'd said breathlessly, "oh, Sister, I can feel…"

With the ease of years of practice Julienne had gently covered Shelagh's abdomen with her hand, and even with decades of experience, she couldn't hide the wonder that flickered over her face as she felt the tiny fluttering movement. With her other hand, she gently smoothed a tendril of hair back from Shelagh's face with a fond smile, and they'd stayed there for a long moment, lost in their own world, before Trixie had come bounding in.

The young nurse's enthusiasm had broken the spell, but her joy was infectious, and soon Cynthia and Jenny were surrounding her, eager to feel the flutters. A little overwhelmed at all the attention, Shelagh just nodded and smiled. She would be forever grateful to Cynthia, however, who blurted, "Someone fetch Dr Turner, quick!"

Jenny had done just that, and then the young midwives had left them in peace as, there in that kitchen, he'd laid a gentle hand on her stomach, his lips brushing kisses over her forehead.

* * *

**Six**

Sister Julienne took her off the on-call rota in month six.

"I can carry my share," she'd protested, to no avail. "I'm hardly an invalid!"

Sister Julienne just looked at her. "You've done so much for us, Shelagh," she'd said firmly. "If we each have to take another night or two a month for awhile, we're happy to do it." She'd smiled gently and covered Shelagh's hands with her own. "I know you'd go mad without something to do, and I've no plans to take that away from you. This is just for nights, nothing else. Remember, just because you are used to going without sleep doesn't mean your baby is."

In the end she'd bowed to the dictates, more for her baby's sake (and Patrick's, and Julienne's, yes, she can admit that) than her own, but even though she missed late-night gossip and the bruisingly satisfying routine of night work, she had to admit that it was truly restful to sleep the night through without worrying about being woken.

* * *

**Seven**

Cynthia's hands were cool and soothing on her belly, the both of them smiling. "And how are you doing?" the young midwife asked, and they'd both had to laugh a little bit, because it was a bit odd, to be in this position.

"Oh, I'm lovely," she'd said, because it was true. "A little top-heavy these days, though."

"Well, there wasn't much of you to begin with," Cynthia pointed out, and this time Shelagh laughed outright. "Have you thought about what you're going to call baby?"

"After his father and mine, if it's a boy," murmured Shelagh, her voice low. "But I just… I have this feeling that it's going to be a girl. And if it is…" She beckoned Cynthia closer and whispered two words in her ear, and her midwife's eyes went wide.

"Oh," Cynthia breathed. "Of course you are."

"You think it's a good idea?"

Cynthia smiled. "I think it's absolutely perfect."

* * *

**Eight**

She was sitting at the table with the girls, a steaming mug of Horlicks in her hands, laughing over some story of Trixie's, when the phone rang.

"Nonnatus House, midwife speaking," said Trixie crisply, and then her eyes went very wide. "Go get Sister Julienne," she said sharply to Jane, who nodded and fled. "Chummy, breathe," she said firmly into the phone.

Sister Julienne arrived almost instantly, and Trixie handed the phone over without a word. Julienne listened intently for a moment, then turned. "Nurse Turner," she said crisply, "where's your husband?"

"With Sister Evangelina," Shelagh said promptly, her nerves beginning to hum. "He's showing her how to refill the gas canister."

Sister Julienne nodded, then glanced at Jenny, who leapt from the table and left at a run.

Taking a deep breath, Julienne's eyes focused on Shelagh. "Nurse Turner," she said lowly, "you do not have to do this. But I would most certainly be lying if I said I could not use you quite badly."

Despite the apparent severity of the situation, Shelagh could hardly keep the grin from her face. "Of course I'll come," she said, and went for her bag. "What's wrong?"

"Transverse presentation," Sister Julienne told her grimly. "Chummy hasn't the experience to turn it, and the mother's hysterical."

"Doesn't the mother have someone there with her?"

"Apparently not." They were out of the bike shed and moving almost before they knew it. "And hysteria always makes these things ten times worse." Still pedaling, Julienne turned to look at her. "Can you manage, Shelagh?"

"Of course I can," Shelagh told her stoutly. "If we've a mother in hysterics, we're going to need you calming her down, you're far and away the best. I'll do what has to be done."

Maneuvering the bicycle on autopilot, Julienne smiled at her. "I am so very, very glad you are here," she said quietly.

"Sister," said Shelagh gently, "I could hardly be anywhere else."

As it turned out, both mother and baby were fine in the end. Despite some awkward maneuvering around her baby bump, Shelagh managed to get the baby turned. All the while, a part of her was distantly amazed to watch as Sister Julienne worked her calming, authoritative magic on the screaming mother. Despite having a doctor just feet away, there was no doubt as to who had the true authority in that room, and Julienne handled the delicate situation with the finesse of a diplomat.

Finally, when it was over and they were outside loading up to go, she got a moment with Patrick as Julienne conferred quietly with Chummy.

"You were magnificent," he told her quietly, smoothing a hand over her now-dishevelled hair. "I'd almost forgotten how beautiful you are when we're handling a situation like this."

"I love handling them with you," she murmured back. "There's something so lovely about working with you this way."

He smiled softly and kissed her forehead, then jerked his head in Sister Julienne's direction. "I'll meet you back at Nonnatus," he told her softly, and went for his car.

Julienne whisked her bag out of her hands and shooed her out the door when they got back to Nonnatus. "The girls will deal with this in the morning," she informed Shelagh in a tone that brooked no argument. "You are under nurse's orders to go home and get some rest."

"And doctor's orders," added Patrick, coming around the bonnet of the car.

"But I can't – "

"Sleep when you haven't cleaned your instruments," they chorused in unison, and rolled their eyes. "Shelagh," continued Julienne, "I promise you, they will be taken care of. But right now, please let us take care of you."

"And our baby," Patrick whispered, coming up behind her to encircle her with his arms and rest his hands on her belly.

Melting back against him, Shelagh surrendered. "All right." Gently disentangling herself from Patrick's embrace, she rolled her bicycle into the shed and murmured a quiet goodnight to Sister Julienne, who smiled softly at her, nodded to Patrick, and went inside.

"Come on," Patrick said gently, taking her hand and leading her to the car. "Let's go home."

* * *

**Nine**

By month nine, she'd been confined to working in the maternity ward or clinics. Fortunately for all involved in that decision, Shelagh was just tired enough to be grateful for the reprieve. She had never been a terribly big person, and pregnancy was taking its toll on even her normally bottomless energy.

Still, she trundled on, doing everything she could manage and a few things she shouldn't have been managing.

She'd been enduring Braxton-Hicks contractions for weeks, long enough that she merely shrugged them off and went about her work. Cynthia noticed, though, when she paused at the end of clinic one day to grit her teeth through a particularly painful one, and hurried up to her.

"Are you all right?" she'd asked, gently laying her hand over Shelagh's.

When the spasm eased, Shelagh smiled at her. "Fine, really," she reassured her midwife. "They're just Braxton-Hicks, and I've been having them for weeks. I'm not due for another two weeks, after all. Nothing exciting to worry about."

It was the first and last time in her career that Shelagh Turner was wrong.


	3. Gentle Mother, Quiet Light

Julienne does not jump when the knock sounds on her door. Her nerves had been forged in the battlefields of France, and over a decade at Nonnatus has only steeled them further. Nothing short of a shelling attack can truly startle her now.

But Cynthia Miller's words have her flying out of her chair nevertheless. "Sister Julienne," the young midwife gasps when Julienne calls for her to come in, "it's Shelagh – Nurse Turner. They weren't Braxton-Hicks. Her labour's started, and she's two weeks early."

She makes it to Kenilworth Row in record time, Cynthia panting behind her as she screeches to a halt. Julienne doesn't even knock, just goes straight in the door.

"Hello, Sister Julienne!" calls Timothy from where he is tying his shoes on the sofa. "Mummy Shelagh will be glad to see you. Dad's with her now."

"Thank you, Timothy," she calls over her shoulder, and scrambles up the stairs, Cynthia hard on her heels.

Shelagh is perched on the edge of the bed when Julienne enters, Dr Turner holding her hand and looking understandably worried. "Oh, thank the Lord," he gasps when he sees her, and Shelagh looks up, hope blazing in her eyes.

"You're here," she whispers. "I waited as long as I could, really I did, but I…"

"Hush," Julienne says gently, settling on Shelagh's other side. "I told you I would come, whenever, wherever. How are you feeling?"

"Afraid," Shelagh admits, almost inaudibly. "It's very different, from here."

"I'd imagine so." Carefully, Julienne fights to keep her voice calm. This is, without a doubt, the most important delivery of her career. "Right. Dr Turner, now would be the point where you make your retreat, if you don't mind."

He nods, sorrowful but understanding, and kisses Shelagh tenderly on her forehead, then strokes his thumb over her cheek. "I'll be right downstairs," he murmurs for Shelagh's ears alone. "I won't leave you, understand? I won't leave you."

Shelagh nods, a little teary-eyed. "Patrick…"

He kisses her on the mouth then, careful and so loving it brings a lump to Julienne's throat. "I love you, too," he says huskily, and she looks up at him with shining eyes as he kisses her one last time on the cheek and leaves the room.

"Now," Julienne says, taking Shelagh's hand in hers, "talk to me, my dear."

And so, as Cynthia begins her examination with unruffled competence, Shelagh does.

"I'm so afraid, Sister," she blurts. "I shouldn't be, after so many years as a midwife, but I am."

"But that's exactly why you are," Julienne tells her tenderly. "You, more than anyone else, know what can go wrong. Of course you're afraid! Don't be ashamed of that, my dear."

"You'll stay?" With her bright blue eyes unshielded by glasses, Shelagh looks terribly, terribly young.

"For as long as it takes," Julienne says firmly. "I won't leave your side. I promise."

Shelagh nods, subdued, and tentatively rests her head on Julienne's shoulder.

"Sister," murmurs Cynthia, careful not to disturb the half-dozing Shelagh, "she's still in first stage, only six centimeters. Do you want us to stay?"

If this were any other birth, Julienne would have sent Cynthia back to Nonnatus. But this is not any other birth, and Julienne cannot bring herself to follow protocol. Not this time. "Yes, Nurse Miller. If you don't mind, I think we should."

The smile that crosses Cynthia's face is just a little too knowing for Julienne's peace of mind, but blessedly she says nothing other than, "Of course, Sister."

Julienne nods, stroking a tendril of hair off Shelagh's brow as she frowns through yet another contraction. "Why don't you go keep Dr Turner company?" she suggests after a moment, both because he could use the distraction and – she admits – because she wants some time, just a little, with Shelagh.

Once again that knowing smile crosses Cynthia's face, and she slips out the door, quiet as a mouse.

Almost as if she had been waiting for the privacy, Shelagh all but melts against Julienne, who squeezes her hand reassuringly. "He loves you very much," Julienne remarks into the comfortable silence, and though she knows it should be impossible, she feels Shelagh smile, though she cannot see her face.

"Yes," Shelagh says, soft and wondering. "Yes, he does. Oh, I never knew how it could be, I didn't… Sister, do you think it's wrong? I never dared to ask before. Do you think I betrayed my vows?"

Julienne is so shocked she can barely stop her body from jerking wholesale. "_No!" _she gasps. "All this time, Shelagh, have you thought I did?"

"I didn't know." Shelagh lifts her head from Julienne's shoulder, looking at her with wide, liquid blue eyes, and once again Julienne feels the total surrender of a mother's love. "I didn't know," Shelagh whispers again. "I knew you accepted my marriage, you gave me away, but I did leave the Order, and whatever else might have been a part of it, loving him was what forced my hand. And I didn't… I didn't know…"

"Shelagh," she says firmly, because this must be addressed, _now, _before she can torture herself any further. "Shelagh, my own – my very dear girl, holy orders are not the only way to serve. Your calling has never wavered, only the way in which you served that calling. What you have with him…"

Julienne thinks back on what she has seen of Shelagh Turner's marriage – on infinite care, mutual devotion, tremendous respect, the profoundest affection, and what can only be called unconditional love. Never will she forget the look in Patrick Turner's eyes whenever he sees Shelagh, as though she is his world entire, the brightest blessing of his life and the answer to all his unasked prayers.

"What you have with him is sacred," she says at last. "As sacred as any vows you took to Nonnatus. Your love of God is not diminished because of what you share with him. Indeed, I would say it is only enhanced. It was God who brought you together, Shelagh, and no less. I believe that, heart and soul."

Shelagh bows her head in profound relief, resting against Julienne's shoulder. "I'd forgotten how it felt to love this way," she murmurs into the soft fabric of Julienne's habit. "To love another person so much that you'd break your own heart to save them and never regret your choice. To love so much that you feel their sorrow and their joy as if it were your own. I wish you could… I wish everyone could feel that way."

Gently, her heart full to bursting, Julienne tilts Shelagh's chin so the young woman meets her eyes. "But I do," she says simply, unable to hide the smile that crosses her face, and watches the realisation wash over Shelagh's features in an agony of painful pleasure and disbelieving joy.

"Mother," Shelagh chokes out, and then Julienne is holding her desperately close and Shelagh is crying into her shoulder and Julienne is borne away on a tidal wave of love that envelops her completely.

_I love you_, Julienne thinks, pressing her cheek against the silky blonde hair. _I love you, Shelagh Turner, for everything you were and for everything you have become. I have always loved you, and I always will._

Gathering her courage – for this _must _be said, if only here and only once – she presses a kiss to Shelagh's forehead. "I love you," she murmurs, and feels Shelagh's hands clench. "Always."

"Always?" Shelagh whispers, disbelieving, and Julienne feels as though her heart might break in truth.

Carefully, so carefully, she cups Shelagh's face between her palms. "_Always," _she whispers fiercely, and holds her there as they cling to each other in this firestorm of light and love.

When the next contraction comes Shelagh bows her head and fights the tears, and Julienne breathes with her because it is all she can do. Shelagh clings to her as though Julienne is her anchor and safe harbor all in one, and her broken confession breaks Julienne's heart just a little more.

"I'm so afraid," she chokes out, and Julienne holds fast.

"I know you are," Julienne whispers. "I am here, Shelagh. Hold on to me. Just hold on to me."

Shelagh, face white, eyes terrified, closes her eyes and does.

For the next several hours, neither of them moves.

* * *

"Could you fetch Dr Turner?" Shelagh's voice is shaking, her shoulders trembling with the strain of hours of labour. "Just for a moment."

"Shelagh," Julienne begins gently, "you know he can't – "

"I know." Shelagh bites her lip. "And I'm not asking for that. But I need to see him. Just… just for a minute or two, that's all."

Despite years of training, Julienne takes a deep breath and goes with her instincts. "All right," she says softly. "But only for a moment. Nurse Miller, if you would?"

Cynthia nods and slips out the door, and a few seconds later Dr Turner hurries in. Quietly Julienne moves aside a little, and he kneels next to Shelagh, taking her hand.

"Shelagh," he says quietly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she says, beginning to smile a little now. "I…" Shelagh bows her head. "I needed to see you. Just for a moment."

So tenderly Julienne briefly feels slightly voyeuristic, Dr Turner gently strokes Shelagh's hair. "I'm here," he murmurs, taking her hand and kissing it, then pressing it to her heart. "Always."

Shelagh nods, resting her forehead against his, and says nothing else.

Then she begins to grimace with pain, and Julienne takes charge. "Out, Doctor," she says firmly. "We'll take it from here."

Patrick Turner turns his eyes on Julienne. "How is she?" His eyes are dark, his forehead creased with the kind of worry that only a husband who is also a doctor can know.

"Almost to transition," Julienne tells him quietly. "Her labour is lasting longer than I would like, but she is all right, for now. There are no signs of danger, not as yet."

"Take care of her, Sister," he says, so low Shelagh cannot hear him. "She is…"

He can't finish, but he doesn't have to. Julienne nods, understanding him perfectly, and ushers him out the door.

The brief encounter with her husband relieves much of Shelagh's stress for a little while, but then the contractions come ever more fiercely and close together, and everything goes south with frightening rapidity.

Shelagh's eyes are half-wild, and she is fighting herself as much as the pain. Nothing Julienne can say seems to get through the thick wall of panic that leaves Shelagh almost out of her mind, and when she begins to hyperventilate in earnest Julienne feels the icy clutch of terror around her heart. _If I can't calm her down, _Julienne thinks desperately, _we may need the flying squad – her heart rate's spiking, her breathing's shallow, oh, Lord, keep her safe! I can't reach her, I can't get through, please help me!_

And then, as if in answer to her prayers, the answer dawns.

Carefully Julienne takes both of Shelagh's hands in hers and begins to chant, casting a silent prayer to the heavens. "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee…"

The response is nearly instantaneous. Shelagh relaxes all at once, closing her eyes and mouthing the words along with Julienne, though she still hasn't the breath to say them. Her breathing slows and deepens, her heart rate drops down to something close to normal, and all her concentration is turned inward. Over and over Julienne chants the prayer, reciting the words by rote, and Shelagh is focused entirely on her voice now. Distantly they are both aware that Cynthia is telling her to push, and she does, but her concentration never wavers from the low, steady rhythm of Julienne's voice chanting the Hail Mary, clinging to the familiar words and even more familiar voice as an anchor in the storm.

"Good," Julienne dimly hears Cynthia say. "That's it. You're doing so well. One more push…"

The next sound to pierce the low hum of prayer is a newborn's high, thin wail.

Shelagh collapses in sobs of relief, tears streaking down her face, and Julienne gathers her up, closing both arms around her and holding on for dear life. "My dear girl," she is murmuring, hardly aware of what she is saying, "my own dear girl, you did so well, oh my dear…"

"It's a girl," Cynthia breathes as she wraps the baby up, "and she's absolutely perfect."

Reluctantly Julienne lets go as Shelagh sags back against her pillows, profoundly exhausted, and Julienne can see her smile faintly. "I knew it," Shelagh murmurs. "I just knew."

Gently, Cynthia places the baby in the cradle of Julienne's arms.

Julienne takes one look at that tiny, perfect face and loses her heart in the space between one breath and the next.

The baby girl has her mother's hair and nose and the blue eyes of all newborns, and Julienne rather irrationally thinks she's the prettiest baby she's ever seen. Carefully, so carefully, she tucks the baby into the curve of Shelagh's arm, who curls her hand around the blanket-wrapped bundle to brush her baby's face, and Julienne cannot take her eyes off either of them. Even desperately exhausted after hours of labour, Shelagh cradles her daughter as though she has been doing it all her life. The sight of her with a baby of her own in her arms tugs on something sharp and sweet in Julienne's heart, and for an instant she sees an image of the Madonna, wearing blue with an infant in her arms.

In that moment, Julienne finds herself closer to God than she has ever been in her life.

A few minutes later the third stage is over, and Cynthia vanishes out the door to fetch Dr Turner. Julienne, absorbed in Shelagh and the baby, startles at the heavier tread of footsteps as he comes through the door. He is more than a bit haggard, but he absolutely melts as he sees his daughter, his face dissolving into sheer wonder and pride as he kneels at Julienne's side. Shelagh, though still worryingly weak, stirs herself to curl toward her husband and baby, and he kisses her damp brow, tucks a strand of hair back behind her ear. For long moments they are simply lost in each other.

"How is she?" the doctor asks Julienne quietly, tearing his eyes away from Shelagh and their baby girl to look her in the eyes.

"She could be better," Julienne admits around the lump in her throat. "It was… one of the harder labors I've seen, and longer than most. But I don't think it's anything plenty of rest won't cure."

The doctor nods, his hand automatically going to his wife's forehead, then her pulse point. He relaxes slightly at the last; her pulse has been relatively fast, but still steady.

Shelagh's eyes blink open then, and Patrick Turner immediately turns all attention to his wife. "Hello, my darling," he murmurs for her ears alone.

"Hello," she rasps, smiling up at him. "And hello to you, too, Julie," she murmurs to her infant daughter, who is making quiet sounds of contentment and squeezing her father's finger.

"Julie?" whispers a stunned Julienne, her heart hammering painfully in her chest.

"Julienne Clara," says Shelagh, in answer to Julienne's unspoken question. "We thought…" And here, Shelagh smiles shyly. "We thought she should be named after her godmother."

"If you'll accept the honour," Dr Turner adds quietly, smoothing a gentle hand over his wife's hair.

Still absolutely stunned, Julienne can only nod mutely.

When she has found her voice again, she whispers, "How did you know? About Clara?" The name hardly feels like hers these days. A girl fresh from the agonies of the Great War had fled to the convent, leaving Clara Bennet behind to become Sister Julienne, and it is Julienne she has been for most of her life, but something deep inside her echoes with the memory nevertheless.

"Sister Evangelina," says Shelagh, "is a remarkable source of information when appropriately bribed. As soon as we told her why, she told us. She said that she'd have been insulted we didn't name the baby after _her, _if we named her after anyone other than you."

"Yes," manages Julienne at last. "Yes, that sounds like her."

Blinking slowly, Shelagh gently touches her baby's face again, then murmurs, "Would you like to hold her for a little while?"

"Oh, I… this is a time for family, Shelagh."

"Yes, it is," says Dr Turner, gentle but firm. "And if you're not family, who is?"

So choked up she can barely speak, Julienne nods, and Dr Turner settles Julie in her arms.

"Hello, little one," she whispers. "Hello, Julie. I'm your godmother."

She is lost in her goddaughter for a long time after that. Dimly she is aware that Shelagh and Dr Turner are absorbed in each other, speaking more with looks than with words, and Julienne is a little relieved to know that her time with the baby is giving the new parents a little time to themselves after the pain and fear of Shelagh's long delivery, but more than anything all she can do is look at her goddaughter – _my granddaughter, _she thinks, _there is no other word for her, she truly is my granddaughter – _and marvel at her perfection. The tiny baby girl clutches at her finger, yawns, blinks up at her with clear blue eyes, and Julienne absolutely melts.

It's only when Julie begins to fuss a little that Julienne is able to clear the haze of love and pleasure from her mind. "All right," she murmurs, because it is so quiet in that room and she doesn't want to break the spell. "Shelagh, do you think you can…"

"Yes," says Shelagh, low and soft. "And then I think all three of us will need to sleep."

Once again Julienne settles the baby in Shelagh's arms. Then she gently brushes Shelagh's cheek, straightens, and turns to Dr Turner. "I'll be back this afternoon," she tells him quietly, "to see how they're both doing. If you can get Julie nursing, even just a little, before Shelagh falls asleep, we'll be well on our way. And if you need anything," she adds, still overcome, "anything at all…"

In his face she can read weariness and worry overlaid with joy, and he smiles at her. "Thank you, Sister," he says, so quiet. "Thank you for everything."

Briskly, fighting tears, Julienne nods to him, touches Shelagh's forehead and tiny Julie's downy cheek, and flees the room before she can give in to sobs.

In her quiet room at Nonnatus, for the first time since her novitiate, Julienne cries herself to sleep in a flood of relief and stark blazing joy.

* * *

When she makes it back to Kenilworth Row, Shelagh, blessedly sitting upright in bed with her daughter in her arms and her husband at her side, smiles at her so brilliantly Julienne's knees go quite wobbly.

"My dear girl," Julienne manages when she is sure she will keep her feet. "How are you? All of you?"

"We're just fine." Shelagh's tone is warm and beautifully, gloriously sure. "It was…" Sheer pleasure crosses her face, and she strokes her baby's hair on pure instinct. "It was the easiest thing in the world," she says at last.

"It was," Dr Turner adds, though he is unable to tear his eyes from Shelagh. "After last night I could hardly believe… but it really was the easiest thing in the world."

Weak with relief, Julienne sinks to the edge of the bed, and it is then that Patrick Turner does something for which Julienne will forever adore him.

"I think," he says with a sparkle in his eye, "that my daughter and I are going to go for a walk." And he gently takes the baby from Shelagh's arms, reverently kisses his wife's forehead, and leaves the room.

Shelagh gives up the baby easily, smiling at him in a way that squeezes Julienne's heart, and watches them go, her eyes soft and adoring.

Then she turns those shining eyes on Julienne. "Sister," she says. "I am so glad to see you."

"And I you," Julienne murmurs back. "I am so glad – oh, my dear girl." Her voice breaks and she doesn't try to stop it. "I am so glad to see you well."

This time it is Shelagh who reaches for Julienne's hands, holding tight, and looks her in the eyes. "Sister," she says again. "You are… you are…"

Somehow – _somehow, _and she does not dare to ask how, but _somehow – _Julienne knows what is coming. Her heart slams into her throat and she gasps, squeezing Shelagh's hands so tight in hers as Shelagh begins to speak. It is everything, perfect and full circle and unbelievable, and Julienne can feel the touch of holy blessing as surely as if she were kneeling before an altar. _Perhaps I am, _she thinks dimly, as Shelagh's words sound in her ear and she drowns in love and hope and peace.

Julienne's heart is broken and made whole again in a single instant as she joins the chant, the _only _chant, the words that will always be theirs and theirs alone, an everlasting symbol of what she has found in the ashes of what she had so wrongly thought she had lost.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee…"

* * *

**Author's Notes: **_This has been a tremendous journey. I have quite a few things to say, not the least of which is a resounding 'thank you' for your patience, kindness, and beautiful reviews._

_First, some notes about the story itself: Marian devotion is most common in, but certainly not limited to, the Roman Catholic Church. I have chosen to align the nuns of Nonnatus with the Anglo-Catholic sect of the Anglican Communion, which retains Roman rites, including reverence of Mary. The prayer itself was chosen not only in connection with Shelagh becoming a mother, but of Julienne finding the mother within herself - not the mother she has been to all of Poplar, but the mother who loves her daughter with a love so fierce it can break hearts and save them again in one stroke. It is a kind of love she never thought she would find, and the reality of it is as new and glorious to her as it is to Shelagh._

_As for Julienne's name: 'Bennet' is a derivation of 'Benedict', meaning 'blessed', which is obvious enough. 'Clara' is of a less obvious derivation, but frankly, I'd like to see if any of you can hit on why I chose that name! _

_Speaking of Julienne, I have found myself falling more desperately in love with Nonnatus' brisk, kindly nun-in-charge even than I am with Turnadette, and the hints I have dropped about her past here will not remain unexplored. My next major project - which won't debut online until it has been completely written - will be her story, beginning when a sheltered upper-middle-class girl joins the nursing corps during the Great War and finds herself on the battlefields of France, and then, shell-shocked, flees to the convent to heal her broken heart. I cannot wait to share that journey with you, and in the meantime, I'm sure more vignettes of both the Turnadette and Shulienne variety will appear sporadically. _

_This story ran away with me, but I am, despite a few qualms, incredibly pleased with the result. I hope you are, too._


End file.
